Of Sunflowers and Wine
by Domani
Summary: A young faerie Ivan leaves his field to explore the nearby town. Through events he is trapped within a human home where he meets the handsome artists  Francis  and learns more than just human ways.
1. Chapter 1

In the rolling hills of Gascony tucked by the small forests and fields of sunflowers, under blue skies and within a town aiming to be a city grand as its namesake, sleepy little Fleurance calls to him. From the edge of the field he watches the town as it stirs to life. His eyes follow the people as they leave their homes and walk the streets. Some take those two wheeled things Seamus calls bicycles. Apparently it is so hard for humans to walk that they simply use these mechanical things to move. Maybe today he would risk it. The others were wandering to the forest today to gather food.

Standing on the rock hiding their den he spread his wings wide, feeling the blood flow through the veins, and a shiver went across his skin. The morning dew was cold against his bare feet, but it was too soon to hover. He had to stretch and wake first.

The large forewings were raised high as his arms rose up over his head; then the hindwings. Each wing was golden with specks of brown closer to his back, the segments broad and less bunched. More like a butterfly than the patched look of a dragonfly. They joined seamlessly between his shoulders, sitting at either side of his spinal column, and stood out pleasantly against the pale skin. Long thick fingers touched his chin as he studied the world as it woke. He was different than the other faeries.

The others were so very lean and dainty. He was a foreigner. He had come from odd batch that came in a chrysalis hidden in a shipment of sunflowers from Russia. The elders had said he was quite fortunate to not be discovered by the humans, but he didn't quite see what could be so horrid about them. A dew drop hanging off the stem of a sunflower allowed him to look at himself. His trunk was thick and more muscular than the others. He even had a few rolls near his hips and at the base of his stomach. All four limbs were thicker too and well designed for work. The others found him useful as a work horse. Not something he really enjoyed. His eyes were large and rounded either. They were thin, almost human in design, but the amethyst colour kept him from being too human. The platinum hair was long enough to cover his ears, a cute bush atop his head, and Ivan felt he looked decent enough.

Beneath his feet the ground was beginning to stir. The others were waking. Now was his chance. If he went now he could go explore and let the angry pests go about their own work for once. Did he go?

His wings stretched, a broad six inches from tip to tip, and off he flew. Each stroke took him farther from the sunflower field, and the air across his nude skin was exhilarating. He was further out than he had even been. The distance was crossed before he knew how far he'd gone. A flower pot with lush marigolds provided a place to hide. Only six inches tall he nestled in well enough. There was the house with the blue door! Seamus lived here!

Below the pot he heard a grumbling. Something like a growl, but ever flowing. Ivan gave a squeal of fright when a round face of fur and whiskers was suddenly at the flowers. Then the purring turned into grumbling laughter. Old man Seamus rose a paw to rub his white face, spotted calico fur still soft with love despite his age.

"Seamus! What are you thinking coming out of the air like that?" Ivan put his hands on his hips and leaned forward, trying his best to look stern. Seamus just kept laughing.

"Sorry, Ivan," the old cat said as he composed himself. "I couldn't resist it. So what are you doing out of the field? You know you aren't to leave except for the forest."

"I know, Seamus, but the day is so fresh and irresistible. I gave in. I had to come! I was just too curious!"

"Curiosity doesn't just kill cats, Ivan. It'd be best if you fluttered on home. Jocelyn Crow is somewhere near. I heard his caw this morning."

Ivan swallowed loudly and looked through the marigolds to the sky. Jocelyn Crow did not like the fae folk. He hated their radiance, the way they shunned him. He would kill a fae rather than let them flit about.

"I won't stay out long, Seamus. I just want to explore a little bit."

"The town is large, Ivan. Stick to the ground as much as you can." The cat gave a sound of displeasure at the boy's tenacity and flicked his tail. A voice called from inside the home, his ears rotating backward at the sound.

"Go ahead, Seamus. The girl is calling you." He reached out and brushed above the nose, a smile lighting his face, and Seamus went back to the home.

_Stick to the ground. I have to stick to the ground and watch for Jocelyn. _Ivan nodded to himself and left the pot.

Humans would see only a butterfly, so the chances of being caught were unlikely. Down an open space between two buildings he flew, eyes sweeping about and taking in all the sights. Flowers everywhere and so many new smells- People were walking after all! They didn't need those mechanical wheels! Yet, as he looked at them he wondered why their skin was covered with cotton. Were they cold? In a windowsill above a sweet scent caught his large nose.

Up and up he rose, lighting on the sill, and there by him was a pastry. He could see what seemed to be bread. Inside were berries! Maybe just a taste-

"Ow!" Ivan's hands trembled as he jerked away and fled to a puddle on the street, hands going into it. His lips quivered and eyes teared as the hot berries slid from his fingers. The skin was red from the burns. A hiccup left him and he sulked. Foot kicked the puddle hard, splashing water, and a shadow went across the puddle. As the water settled he looked into it. A loud caw overhead sounded as he recognized the shape.

He cried out, wings spreading wide as he flew fast from the ground, staying close as Seamus had said. Jocelyn was laughing, an eerie cackle as he pursued the fae, and Ivan's breaths were coming to fast. He was made for work, not hard flying like the others, and already he was growing tired. Suddenly he veered up, climbing into the air, distancing himself only a little from the bird before sweeping into an open window. The bird began to follow before a broom's brush struck him. Out the bird was flung, giving an indignant caw as he lifted into the air, and Ivan knew he'd be waiting. He would have to hide until it would be safe to leave this building. Where was he, anyway?

He was stuck in something. Luckily his wings were high and lifted from flight, but the rest of him was coloured. The slick material the muddy feeling colours sat on was hard to stand. He whined and slipped, trying to get loose, and the world thrummed heavily, hard steps. Loud in his pointed ears, and he looked over his shoulder. A man stood there, looking down at him.

_He'll squish me. He'll squish me with those shoes Seamus spoke of! _Ivan's eyes were welling with tears again and the man's expression changed from shock to a much softer look.

"Non, non. Don't cry now. Shh. We'll get you clean, don't worry."

_Don't cry? But bugs don't cry! _Ivan stared back at him, swallowing to calm himself, and it dawned on him as the eyes traveled across his skin. The human could see him! He was one of those rare visionaries the elders talked about! They once covered the land ad celebrated the moon's phases with his kind! Yet they had died out, hadn't they? Why was this one here?

"You wait right there. I'm going to get water."

Ivan watched him walk away. The man's hair was golden, like the flowers he loved, and brushed his shoulders in curls and bounces. His jaw had been lined with stubble, yet he still had a slight feminine charm despite the masculine appeal. Those eyes were pure blue. A lovely blue. The cotton on his skin was different. It was white and pure, covering his trunk, arms, and a little way down his thighs. The rest was bare. He had qualities like Ivan and the other faes, too. He was lean and dainty, but had a thick tone like Ivan. It was an odd comfort to the fae.

He came back and sat the steaming bowl on the table. A sweet scent, like flowers, wafted from the water.

"I'm sorry. Let me know if I hold you too tightly."

The man spoke gently as his fingers wrapped around the fae. Finally he was out of the goop, but now the heat under his feet made him curl. He'd surely die in river water so warm! It wasn't natural! He wanted to cry out, to fight, and he was lowered. His breath was held, but then he froze. This water felt so-

"Nice! How is it that the river water is warm? It's only morning! The sun has only been out for a short while! These smells, what are they? How is it that the water smells of flowers? Is this flower water? Is it-"

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down! I can't answer all of it at once!" The man laughed, blue eyes shining as the sound left him. "The water is warm because we have a heater. It's like a well, but only warm. The smells are from the soap I put in. It's perfumed. No, it's not flower water."

Ivan listened with rapt fascination as the man spoke. His hands finally washed his skin, the muddy goop leaving his flesh and slipping into the water.

"Mister, what is this mud?"

"Little fae, you may call me Francis. And that mud, as you called it, is paint. It's colour."

"Colour?"

Francis nodded from where he sat in a chair by the table. On an easel adjacent to the table sat a canvas. Flowers littered across it in pencil, colour splashed in placed to resemble, the vase sitting on another chair covered in a drape. The flowers were pretty to Ivan.

"You make the world show on that white thing through these colours?"

"I'm an artist. That's what we do- Now, little fae, you haven't told me what I can call you."

"Ah! Ivan!" He had forgotten his manners! Ivan's face flushed and he raised his hands to apologize. Francis gave a sound, his finger drawing close, the nail pressing against Ivan's burned hand.

"What happened, mon petite?"

"There was a pleasant smelling treat in a window. I tried to get a berry, but it was too hot." The fae pouted as he lifted up, trying to get out of the bowl, and Francis chuckled at him.

He extended his hand and the fae settled onto it. From there Francis sat him on a washcloth, something no doubt large enough to dwarf the fae, and he watched the boy move. He was delicate, but strong. In so many ways he moved as a man, but at other times it was like a bird.

"Why was that bird chasing you?"

"That bird? Oh! Jocelyn Crow! He's a mean old thing. He hates us, you know." Ivan stated matter-of-factly.

"He does, does he?"

"Yes! And so he tries to catch us and eat us! He's probably out there waiting for me."

Francis followed his gaze to the window and nodded to himself. To his feet he rose and went to the window, drawing it closed.

"Then stay the night. Let me draw you. I'll feed you and keep you from Jocelyn Crow. Is that all right?"

Ivan nodded perhaps too eagerly, not realizing how trapped he was now with the window closed.

Author's note: A twist in a world of faeries. To me these sorts of things are fun stories, as fae folk can be both dark and pure, so having a story based in it will be exciting. I look forward to seeing you all next time! -Domani


	2. Chapter 2

Francis had to decide what to do in regards to the little fae. What did they eat? Where would he sleep? And what to do to cover the boy? It was shockingly more difficult than he thought. His decision to get a pet was suddenly changing through this.

Ivan was fluttering around the painting in process, eyes scanning the bright colours, and fingers trailing the canvas. It had a strong scent, but not one similar to flowers. It made his nose wrinkle.

"Ivan, come here please." Francis called from another room and Ivan blinked in response.

Curiously he flitted toward the sound and entered a room filled with scents. It was a kitchen, but all he noticed were flowers in the window, the bright copper utensils, and the bowl of fruit on the counter. Francis had rolled his sleeves up, his hair pulled back in a tie, and stirred some batter in a large bowl. Ivan grew curious again as the man placed it on the counter. There were red, purple, and blue shapes within.

"Berries!"

"Yes. You said you had burned your hands trying to get some from a pie. I'll make something easier to eat and a little less warm."

Ivan smiled and settled on the counter, eyes fixed on the man, and he found himself content. In a single day he had left the field and come to this human world. The elders spoke of the cruelty of man, but here amongst the villains was a saint. Perhaps life wasn't some simple black and white.

"Francis, why is it you don't stare at me? I must be odd to you."

"You are a sight to behold, Ivan, but it's rude to stare." It had taken him a moment to respond, but his answer had remained pleasant to Ivan.

"But I'm staring at you." The fae responded childishly, moving to lay on his back, eyes still directed to the man.

"Yes, you are. What is it that you're curious about, Ivan?"

Oh, what was he curious about? There was so very much in this man's way of looking that made Ivan want to understand. And his world here- it was so different from what he knew!

"Why is it you keep cotton on your skin? Do humans always remain cold?"

"Cotton… you mean my shirt? No, no! It isn't that!" Francis laughed as he got a glass pie plate from a cabinet. "We wear clothes to cover our forms. For us it's indecent to be nude in front of others."

"In…decent?" Ivan thought for a moment, nibbling his lower lip as he sat up, and he felt his nakedness for the first time. The child darted and hid behind the fruit bowl, face red, and he gave a whine. Francis finished pouring the batter into the plate and slid it into the refrigerator, gently closing the door behind him.

"Oh, Ivan, it's all right. I'm not offended. I'll be drawing you as you naturally are, so don't be ashamed."

"But I'm indecent! You said so!" The fae called from behind the bowl, eyes looking for something to hide himself with.

"I didn't say you were, Ivan. I was explaining why we humans do it. Let me draw you, dear. I'll think of how to cover you after, all right?"

Ivan had given in to the soft sound and followed Francis to the larger room with the table. As he looked around he saw very little furniture in this room. Many canvases and shelves of art utensils lined the walls. Not much for his personality except fields painted across the walls and blue skies over the ceiling. Francis had settled on a stool and Ivan turned to look at him.

"Just settle there on the table. Sit however you'd like. No doubt you need to rest."

Ivan had nodded and curled in on himself, knees drawn to his chest as he studied the window. The blue eyes were focused on him for no more than three seconds at a time, flicking back to the canvas to trail the pencil again. Ivan wasn't one to sit still, Francis mused to himself, as he fidgeted with his long fingers. It wasn't much harder than drawing a child, but sometimes it could be frustrating. Then nature made its magic.

Something outside the window had drawn Ivan's attention. His legs curled beneathe him as he leaned forward, eyes wide with wonder, and his lips parted just enough. Francis frantically worked to catch this moment, hair falling loose from his tie as he did so, and pencil tried to catch light and shadow for colouring later. When Ivan lost sight of the butterfly outside the window he looked to Francis again, smiling brightly.

The man was distracted in his work, eyebrows drawing together as he worked, and his tongue trailed his lower lip from time to time in agreement to the lovely lines he had made. He was too beautiful, Ivan thought for a moment, as he watched the man work. Not a single fae would be able to resist him. There was an energy about him the fae felt he could drink up.

Time traveled on and neither man was sure how long it had been since the pencil had been first lifted. With a satisfied smile Francis set the draft down and looked to Ivan. With a gesture of his head he expected the fae to follow. Ivan gave a sound and spread his wings, but had to pause just a moment to look. Was that him? He had never seen all of him at once. His face grew hot and he wanted to cover himself. That couldn't be him. He wasn't that pretty. In a storm he flew after Francis and tugged a strand of his hair. The man laughed and turned to look at the flustered fae who, by this point, had tears in his eyes.

"You have to do it again! It's not like the flowers! It's not a reflection! You have to try again!"

"Ivan, why? What's wrong with it?" Francis smiled gently, confused at the boy's insistence. He liked this one, personally, and would rather not redo it.

"It's too pretty, Francis. It can't be right." Ivan bit his lip and laced his fingers together.

Francis smiled with understanding, his hand extending out to the fae. The trembling thing settled onto his palm, fiddling with his hands, and Francis gave a sound to draw his gaze.

"I drew the pretty thing I saw, Ivan. It's real. What you saw is you. If you find yourself pretty then please, by all means little one, enjoy yourself. You're beautiful."

He settled the fae onto his shoulder and went to draw the treat from the fridge. The pie plate was settled onto a counter and a slice was made. On a small saucer he placed the treat and took a spoon to enjoy a bite.

"Go ahead, Ivan. These berries won't burn you."

Ivan went to the treat and touched it. He jumped at the slight chill, but took a small handful to test it. It was sweet! Much like nectar in its sugars. The berries were nice too!

"What is this, Francis?"

"Cheesecake. It's a cooler treat than a pie. I think the cold will help your hands too."

Ivan giggled and ate, fascinating Francis with every bite. It was amazing how much a fae could eat. He didn't expect them to be able to old so much in. Then again, this one was just a hint rounder than typical fae folk. Francis laughed quietly to himself, eyes bright as he watched his muse. How to convince the boy to stay longer than a day would be his focus. It wasn't as though he'd harm him. No, not his little fae! Yet he needed this boy for motivation. If he didn't have this chance for some reason, why take it at all?

"Francis, what is it?" Ivan had moved to his hand again, his smaller ones touching Francis' thumb gently.

"I was thinking of how lucky I was that Jocelyn chased you here."

"Lucky? No, not at all! I was so afraid!"

"I wouldn't have seen such magic like you had he not."

Ivan smiled so broadly that Francis found himself doing the same. He carried the little fae as he walked off to the bathroom. The claw foot bath filled with steaming water and scents frothed within it. Ivan sat on the edge and watched the bubbled as Francis removed his shirt. His skin was lightly coated in golden hair, his chest and stomach trimmed to keep from being too coated, and even the hair above his genitals was neatly contained. Ivan heard the steps of the man draw closer and turned to gaze at him. Only a short while before this he had discovered the shame of his own nakedness. Now he discovered the wonders of another person's naked form.

Francis was delicate, but toned, and he marveled at the curves for each muscle. His body was so different and similar. The man arched and lifted a leg, stepped into the bath nimbly, and slowly disappeared. The water rose to his chest, hiding him from Ivan's prying gaze, and the fae sulked for a moment. Yet the man began to speak again. He explained electricity, what they ate, how clothes varied, and simple things of day to day life for men. Ivan hung at the end of each word, his curiosity piqued beyond his usual limits, and the world grew broader than the field.

Francis ran a loofa across his skin, unabashedly touching all parts despite Ivan's eyes fixed on his movements, and he sighed at the feel.

"Ivan, there's still just a bit longer before night falls. What would you like to do?" His head rest against the tub, eyes sliding closed, and he heard Ivan give a sound in thought.

"I'm not quite sure. You spoke of music and how it's different here for you humans. We have pipes and our hands for sounds. The elders sing the stories for us. Your music comes from boxes?"

Francis laughed and smiled brightly at the fae as he left the bath. Ivan let his breath trail across his lips slowly as he watched the water run down in streams across the skin. Beads carved pathways through the thickets of hair and he felt a sudden warmth.

"Come along then, Ivan. Let me show you." Francis nodded the fae to follow the him to his bedroom where he gestured to what looked like a dresser. He lifted the top to show a black disk and speaker. An old Victrola record player, kept in charmingly good condition, and ready to sing with an old static sound from a time of war when Ivan's field of flowers couldn't grow. The nude blonde carefully set a disk on the tray and placed the needle on the edge. He took the brass crank in hand and spun it to start the machine. Ivan was alarmed by the sudden burst of sound, but it was so amazing. So many different noises created the music and Francis sang with it as he threw on a silk robe.

"Francis, you spoke of dancing. Show me how you dance." The fae's wings fluttered as he tilted his head and asked gently.

Francis smiled sweetly and pretended to have a partner. His arms extended out to hold a woman as he swept across the room in ballroom fashion. Ivan giggled and clapped his hands, watching and swinging his feet. As he watched Francis dance across the room he felt a sudden desire to dance with him. To be the one he was holding. His face grew warm and he wondered why his throat seemed dry. His heart thrummed loudly as he wished the music wouldn't stop. In his heart he wished the music was magical like it sounded- and that it would make him big for this world so much larger than his own.

This big world which had his visionary- Francis.

Author's note: I'm considering drawing Ivan to display just how darned cute he is as a fae. I admit that after the last fic this one is certainly uplifting. I hope you all enjoyed this installment. See you all next time!


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Hey guys! This chapter finally earns the "M" rating this story has. Now, if you're here mainly for the cute I've placed the porny bits between two "~*~". Just ctrl+f to the second one and read after that. There's plot before than too, of course. Enjoy!

The night crept by with questions, drawing, and stories before finally the two slept. Ivan rather liked his form of bedding. Francis had taken an old cigar box and filled it with cotton to make it warm. A thicker pair of handkerchiefs worked as blankets for the fae and for a pillow he bunched spare cloth around a stretched cotton ball and sewed it off at the end. It would make a body pillow, but a pillow none the less.

Despite all of his hard work the man still woke with a fae on the pillow by his head. Little hands had reached out in sleep and fisted in his hair, the boy curled into as tight a ball he could manage. Carefully the man moved from the bed, working hard to not disturb the boy, and slipped out of the room. Jeans thrown across a chair in the den were donned, a white button up thrown on, and he left the apartment.

Ivan stirred slowly, confused by the lack of warmth he had enjoyed through the night. Francis wasn't in the bed. Ivan stretched his limbs and wings, looking to the window, and sighed at the sight of sunlight. What point of day was it? He flit about from room to room, looking for his artist, but no room held the man. His heart began to thump too loudly. His breath came in gasps. He was alone in this room. Had Francis grown tired of him? Where was his artist?

Ivan searched until he landed on the man's vanity and took up hair ribbons in his hands. He could smell the man on it and he hiccupped as he gave a sob. Somewhere in the place was a sound. Like an odd clicking. He wandered along through the place, ready to fight whoever would disturb this home would find a fae willing to fight for a human. Yet a smiling face was at the door. Francis looked at the fae with a grin and Ivan flew to him. He slipped into the chest pocket of the man's shirt and gave a loud wail. Francis jumped slightly at the sound, looking down to see the trembling thing curled in his pocket.

"Ivan?"

"I'm sorry! Please don't go away any more! I'll be good!"

Francis gave a sound and smiled. He just couldn't stay composed around the fae, could he?

"I'm sorry, Ivan. I thought you'd stay asleep. You've done nothing wrong, precious. I just went to get something for you."

He walked to his art room and sat a paper bag onto the table. The contents were drawn out as Ivan lifted out of the pocket to hover around curiously. So quickly the tears had stopped, the fae overwhelmed with wonder. He flit to one side, then the other, trying to see what it could be.

"It's cotton- no! Clothes! But Francis, these are very small." Ivan looked to the blue eyes, confused.

"I know they are. They're for you, Ivan."

Francis hadn't left him forever. He had left to get something for him! Ivan felt silly and wrung his hands in embarrassment. Finally he landed on the table and looked at the clothing. He took up a pair of brown pants and drew them up, imitating Francis, and was grateful to see that those buttons and zippers that gave Francis such a hard time weren't on his pants. The material felt good against his skin and suddenly he was warm. No chill against his skin!

"This too. Lets dress you like a proper gentleman, hmn?" Francis gestured to a blue blouse.

Ivan gave a small sound as he worked to get it over his head. When it was finally on he shifted his wings, feeling restrained, but then his wings slipped through the cloth. Francis beamed proudly and gently tapped his fingers to the boy's sides.

"I had her cut the back and add strings to the bottom. You can tie the fabric together at the base, but now you're covered. And you can fly." The man smiled proudly at his fae, enjoying how sweet he looked.

Ivan worked to tie the strings like the rope they made for their paddocks. The clothes felt so nice and warm and Francis looked so happy. The blonde man gave a yawn as he stretched, gesturing for his fae to follow as he went to make breakfast. He broke off a bit of honeycomb for the boy to eat as he made his own meal, the two laughing and talking together.

After breakfast came art, Francis drawing Ivan in his new clothes, and the two couldn't stop smiling and talking. The day simply sped by and not once did Ivan think of his field, nor of the outside world. Night fell and Francis watched as his fae nestled into his bed. For a while he read before turning out the light and looking at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. Sheets were too hot. He flipped the sheets back and lay on his backside, exposed to the moonlight's wash of blues, and embraced the chill racing across his skin. Eyes slid shut, but still he couldn't sleep. He looked to Ivan and found relief in how deeply the fae slumbered. Quietly he rolled to his left and reached into the nightstand. The drawer was left open as he took out lotion, pouring a small amount in his palm, and moved his hand down.

His member was limp, the skin sheathing the head, and so he grasped it. A few experimental jerks began to get him into the mood, the man's eyes sliding closed as he started to get into it. Four inches of muscle began to fill with blood and swell. The veins started to pop and the seam like ridge on the underside more pronounced. Soon he was at seven inches, his shaft thick and full, and so he began to tease the head. Thumb and finger pulled the skin back, then forced it forward, then back again. His skin wrinkled and straightened with the motions, the tip wet as seminal fluid began to flow.

The tension in his sac made him need to touch. Lightly he rubbed at the mass, feeling the shift of weight through his massages. A sigh left him, making him bite his lip to remain quiet. He couldn't wake his little fae.

Ivan was already awake. Since the process began he had started to watch. Was Francis needing to breed? He didn't have any females or images of them anywhere. Amethyst eyes watched each movement as Francis seemed to lose himself. Ivan heard of what it was like for the older males of the field. A powerful driving ache. They had shown him how to handle these aches until his own came. So cautiously he moved.

He landed on Francis' stomach, the man jumping at the sudden feel, and he realized that he may have to explain this.

"Ivan, dear, I-"

"It hurts, doesn't it? You need to breed, so why don't you find a mate?" Ivan was quite forward as he studied the erect thing. It was bigger than him, but he could almost reach the top without flitting about.

"I don't have much time to find anyone- Ivan, dear, what are you doing?"

"You've given me clothes, cheesecake, music from a box- I've only sat for you. Let me give you something." He cocked his head when he faced Francis before flitting up to perch on the hand grasping the member.

His palms slid across the soft skin of the head, feeling the muscle dip under his hands from the applied pressure, and he marveled at the difference between his own and this man's. A strong scent left the tip, overpowering him and making him reel. He couldn't focus clearly. The scent was too much like nectar to him. Pure nutrient.

Carefully he swept his hand into the moisture leaking from the hole and brought it to his mouth. Francis opened his mouth to interject, but the boy was tasting it before he could utter a sound. At first Ivan was unsure, but then the taste struck him hard. It was strong, yet bittersweet. And he liked it. Arms wrapped the tip to squeeze more of the fluid out, making Francis shudder. It was so good! Leaning up he placed his mouth against the flesh and began to lap at it. Long, slow, deep licks to gather up more and more. Hands dug at the hole before he slipped one inside. Francis gave a sound, eyes wide for a moment, yet it didn't hurt.

He kept the hand Ivan used as a perch around the head to hold it all in place. His opposite hand began to jerk, slow and easy, and Ivan grew curious again. More of his hand went in, straightened to keep nails from scraping, and Francis moaned. Harder and harder he jerked, Ivan gathering more liquid as it escaped around his arm, and with time he felt a quiver in the mass of flesh around his limb. He drew back the arm and licked the head, hands rubbing it harder, and splurts of liquid, a clouded white froth, came from the shaft. It collected mostly on Francis' hands, but just enough landed on the little fae. The man, when his senses gathered, began to apologize. Ivan merely laughed.

"That was fun, Francis! And now I feel all better! I think I drank too much though." The fae squished his belly fat with his hands, making a sulking expression as he did so. Francis laughed and gathered tissues for cleaning.

After their mess was cleaned Francis looked at the fae perched on his pillow and surrendered to the fact Ivan's bedding would never be used. Ivan curled into the pillow, hands grasping at Francis' hair again, and smiled at the man.

"Ivan- Do you need, um, attention?" Francis found wording things hard with this boy. Phrases seemed different between the two worlds.

"No. I've not come into season yet. Don't worry though; I'm happy to help you." Ivan snuggled deeper into the pillow, eyes growing lazy as they began to lid.

"Season? I don't understand."

"We don't need to mate until after we reach the right age. Until then we don't grow in our lower parts like you. Until we do, though, we have to help the older males and females until we reach our prime or they find mates."

"Don't you hate that? Being used, I mean." Francis scowled at the thought of others taking advantage of his fae. Little Ivan deserved better.

"I have never thought about it. I suppose I do a little, but it's different with you."

"Why's that, Ivan?"

"Because I want to make my human happy." The eyes finally surrendered and closed.

"Ivan- I want you happy too."

Francis found it bitter that he finally cared for someone who seemed to share some sentiment and they weren't even past six inches in height. This boy brought him so much happiness already. A new drive and joy he hadn't found since he had to move here. Ivan was asleep again and Francis looked to the nightstand. He'd need to have the prescription filled soon.

"_All artists gain fame after they die. It's hard to build a reputation until then." Joan, a lovely buxom redhead who happened to be his manager, commented at one meeting with him._

"Seems I'll be famous soon."

Author's note: All right guys, holidays are coming up here in the US. I know Canada has already had its Thanksgiving, but to anyone else I hope you enjoy your holiday! See you afterwards in the next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

Ivan rose first this morning, a sound drawing him to wake, and reluctantly he stood up from the pillow. On the window sill were two fae folk. Older males, hunters judging by the paint across their faces, and Ivan felt sick at the sight. These people were from the field. His home.

His eyes turned to Francis before he flit over to the hunters. What did they want? Why had they come all this way?

"It is good to see you're well, Ivan. Are you uninjured?" The brunette looked at him, studied his clothes, and Ivan felt nervous.

"Yes. He has been taking good care of me. Don't worry about me." He tried to smile, but his lips trembled when he tried.

"Don't be frightened. We're going to take you home. You'll be safe now."

Go home? No! Ivan shook his head and stepped back. He wanted to stay with his Francis. This human man he adored.

The two seemed to understand something between them with just a gaze and reached for Ivan's arms. He struggled, but his small cries were too quiet to reach the sleeping human. Even as the faes carried him off he cried for his artist, struggling and sobbing, and hating his own kind.

Francis slowly stirred as sunlight filled the room. He looked around for signs of his fae. Where he could have gone.

"Ivan?" He called before slipping to the bathroom. The fae loved to play with the mirror. He flicked the light on and scowled. Not there.

"Ivan?" Now to the art room. Maybe he was admiring the freshly painted portraits. Yet not there.

"Ivan! Ivan!" To the kitchen. Not there either.

The man moved quickly to his bedroom. Maybe he was hiding. This could be vengeance for when Francis scared him so terribly that once. Yet he wasn't there. The man sat on his bed and looked ahead of him. His window was cracked upon, tall enough for a fae. Ivan was gone. Francis felt his breaths coming faster and his face seemed hot. Tears were stinging his eyes as he fell back onto the bed. He refused to move for hours, laying there staring at the pillow. It smelled like his fae.

Someone was knocking at his door. They'd beat it down at this rate. What did he care? Go ahead and beat it down. He could hear the handle turn as the lock was undone. Someone who had the key? There was only one person who had a key to his apartment.

"Francis? Darling, where are you hiding? You're not still in bed, are you?"

The ginger woman slipped into the room, wearing a casual blue sundress with a white sash. Her lips were pouting with the red gloss, but Francis didn't even roll to see how pleasantly dressed she was today.

"I saw all those paintings, Francis. They're gorgeous. Never saw you as the type to paint faeries, considering how often you stick to the metropolitan angst. Has this countryside changed you?" She grew tired of his silence and walked around the bed to see him.

His face was moist, eyes red and glazed, and his pallor was both ashen and flushed. Hands fisted into the pillow like a child and Joan was taken aback at the sight. The motherly instinct embedded in most all women floated to the surface. Quickly she sat and placed one hand to his back to rub, the other petting his hair, and she tried to think of what to say.

"He's gone. He left." Francis, the man with such a pretty tone, managed to simply croak.

"Who, dearest?" She kept petting him, keeping her voice soft and low. The croon of a parent.

"Ivan. I don't know why. I woke up and he was just-" His voice broke as he couldn't finish the sentence.

"Ivan?" Joan looked to him, trying to keep him distracted through speaking.

"My faerie. I've been taking care of him all this long week and I thought he was happy. Yet he just- he just!" Francis broke down, turning his face to the pillow, and Joan swallowed hard. It was a difficult thing to watch a man's will shatter.

"I'm going to make you some tea. You tell me everything."

Ivan stood before the great elder, their form of king, and kept his head bowed. He had just violated several laws. Revealing their identity. Bonding to a human. Leaving the field. Each one sounded in his ears with the anger on the male's voice. The guards grabbed the cloth on his body and started to pull. They'd tear the clothes Francis had gotten him!

He fought, spinning and swiping at them, trying to force their hands away, crying and yelling at them, but as more guards tore at the cloth he couldn't save it. The cloth lay at his feet and he crumpled by it, hands grabbing it and inhaling. His smell. Perhaps he could find him again this way.

There was a strength in Ivan as he touched the cloth. Francis was no doubt fretting over him. Perhaps he was afraid! Ivan rose to his feet and, despite his small size, felt big. He struck a guard across the head and darted past them. His feet felt light upon the soil as they pursued. They kept touching, lighter and light, before he found himself at the surface. The guards came out after him before stepping back into the entrance. They called to Ivan, beckoning him back in, but the fae stood on the rock face, refusing to budge.

"You took me from him! I hate you. I hate you!" No better than a child, but no longer the innocent fae. He had matured. He had learned the world of man. Hell, not just man. He knew the broad world and hated the small minded field.

The guards drew back into the hole as the earth trembled beneathe Ivan. The loud sound of wings having just died down. Ivan turned to look up at Jocelyn crow as the bird cawed loudly.

He had told her everything. Every little detail about finding the fae and how everything had changed since. Each painting was precious. Each flower he ever kissed better. All his home was lit by Ivan and now made dark by his absence. Joan listened patiently and studied the tired man. He was blithering at this point. He'd need to be made exhausted. The day itself had challenged him, pushed him to his limits. Now, as night fell, she needed to put him back to bed.

Her fingers laced with his as she took him back to the bedroom. At first he resisted her advance, refused her in his despair, but finally gave in to the comforts of sensuality. Though she pleasured him not once did he touch her. The red lips cupped him and he gave the proper sounds, but he wasn't at all into it. At the window there was a rustling. Like a bird.

Blue eyes turned to the glass where a large crow perched, tapping his beak to the window. By him was Ivan, hands pressed to the glass. Yet he was leaving. Ivan was flying off.

"No. No Ivan! Ivan wait!" To hell with the woman! He shoved her back and fastened his pants again, bare feet slipping across hard cold floor as he ran to the door. Outside now he pursued.

The crow was following Ivan. If he kept up with the crow he'd find him! Running and running he pursued, breaths coming harder and harder, but he wouldn't stop. His feet felt numb in the dew covered grass. The forest. They were going towards the forest.

"Ivan!" He cried for his fae, shivering as the sweat began to cool him in the cold night air.

The man began to cough and stumbled to a stop. His hands were wet as he covered his mouth. Dammit. He wasn't supposed to stress himself. His lungs wouldn't hold out that long. Tuberculosis was rough in its recent outbreak in the city. People fled to the countryside to live longer, hoping the clean air would filter through the lungs. The medicine given to him by the quack doctor was supposed to help. Yet it could only stall for so long.

He was still coughing and coughing. His chest ached. Finally he sank down to his knees, tired. Finally he lay down, only having made it near a sunflower field. He wondered if this patch was Ivan's field.

"Ivan…" He murmured the name. It sounded good in his ears.

"Wait fae! Wait!" Jocelyn crow cawed as the fae light on a tree.

Ivan was crying again, face against the rough bark, and his little form shook. Francis hadn't been worried at all. He had found a mate so easily just during this long day. Why had he fought then? Now he couldn't even go back to the field. He'd be exiled.

"Fae. Why is it you cry?" Jocelyn perched by him, cocking his head to the side so the one big eye could see the boy.

He had landed behind Ivan during the escape. Ivan had been certain of death, but the big crow just laughed. He had been delighted in the maturity of the fae. How the creature wasn't some small-minded peon of the machine created by the leaders of his kind. He would no longer be some simple thing like a worker ant. So now here they were, on the edge of the forest, and Ivan seemed broken.

"He didn't miss me at all! You saw, didn't you? He had a female to take care of him!" He hiccupped, skin sore against the bark, and now he missed his clothes even more.

"He pursued after us, fae. Threw the female away and followed. Humans aren't so different from your kind, fae. They just understand the world more. Perhaps the female sought to ease him."

The old bird spoke so calmly. Ivan found himself listening, not even having thought of something so simple. Jocelyn was knowledgeable bird. He had suffered at the hands of his fellows, the faes having destroyed his nest for fear of the chicks, and now he sought vengeance against the simpletons.

Ivan looked at the bird and went to him, hands running across the feathers along his side, and thought for a moment. Francis was a man. Alone except for Ivan. It would only make sense that comfort be needed when he lost his only companion. The fae felt foolish, face burying against the bird in shame.

"I'll take you back. We shall find your human, little fae."

Ivan nodded, sitting atop the bird before they lit into the air. Neither one of them aware of the human laying cold on the ground by Ivan's field of sunflowers.

Author's Note: Hope you all had a good holiday! Sorry I'm so behind in updating. I've been a bit lazy. The next chapter may be the last to this story, so hang on til the end! Thanks for your time, see you soon!


	5. Chapter 5

The wind seemed colder as they flew closer to the village. Jocelyn had said his artist had pursued them. But where would he have stopped? No human could have kept up with them. So where was he? The boy was beginning to lose faith. What if Francis had given up? It didn't seem like him, but things were confusing with these humans. Hell, everything was confusing now.

There he was. Had he lay down to rest? It seemed odd, the way he was laying on his side, facing the sunflower field, and Ivan wondered what he was thinking. The bird landed and Ivan slid off to skip to Francis, smiling brightly.

"Um, Francis? Hi… I- Francis?" Ivan sulked, feeling ignored, and stood by the handsome face.

It looked like the man was just sleeping. That was silly, it was too cold for a human to sleep out here! Ivan sighed and reached to playfully grab the nose to wake the man. His hands jerked back suddenly at the shock of cold. So cold.

He had never made too many wishes in his life. Never really wanted more than one great adventure. Days ago he had started out on this chance, venturing into the world of man, and found so much for himself. He tasted fruit and gained knowledge. He survived the floods of emotions and endured sinful feelings. Yet above all was the greatest sin he hadn't grasped yet.

His love for Francis was the sweetest thing he had earned since coming to his home. It was a joy above all things and his heart was full of it. True love. A real feeling of finally being complete, but what was he to do? He was so small. All he could do was love his human and be by him until he aged. Yet this wasn't aging. This was just a simple coolness to the body. His breaths weren't stirring the air. It was all so still.

Jocelyn looked away from the boy, watching the night sky above and wondering what fate it was that drove so many to despair. So were the thoughts of the bitter members of the world.

"No." Ivan spoke once, voice shaking as his eyes welled with tears.

"No!" He spoke again, voice growing more firm. Hands wiped at his eyes as he straightened. This was not how his adventure would go.

He went to the north side of the body and placed his hands to the earth.

"Please please please. Grow!" There! A small toadstool which began to sprout.

Clockwise he went around the body, stopping at each direction until finally he reached north again. A faerie circle. The symbol of magic and the connection to the Otherworld. Ivan hovered over the body, drawing energy from the plants around him, trying to push that warmth into the man. His body began to heat, colour coming, but Ivan was growing so tired. He fell from where he hovered, landing on the man's hip, and holding the shirt he sobbed. He was only one young fae. He couldn't do this.

"Francis? Francis, I love you. I love you I love you." Little fists remained balled in the shirt, the fae crying.

How long would the fae lay here and cry? Jocelyn looked to him and gave a caw. The fae was lost in his own world, ignoring all else, and finally the bird took wing. He had done what all he could. The world just worked faster.

Ivan looked up at the brief sound of wings and watched the bird fly off. Wings. The rustling of wings. Francis had loved his wings, hadn't he? Had spoke of how wonderful it must be to exist as a fae. To finally have everything there and ready, a world of simplicity to explore and appreciate- it was a dream for the man. He desired something greater than the confines of humanity. Just as Ivan dreamed of adventure. Did he have to be human to have adventures? No. No he didn't. But Francis-

Ivan rose again. This body was too big to revive, but he was a fae. The fae folk were impish and had their wicked magicks also. Again he drew energy from the earth, begging for it to aide him. Slowly and slowly his Francis gained colour. Yet his skin glowed with something different than health. Like glittering dew energy swept across his skin. Limbs seemed thinner. Fingers and toes a little longer. His ears gained an odd elfin tip.

The energy seemed to warp him. The clothes were large and he small. The earth was warm and energy pulsed as the Otherworld finally permitted passage. The body was too big for such a free spirit. Yet the figure of a fae would suit the painter just fine. Ivan landed by the lump squirming in the clothes, his knees shaking until finally he collapsed. Through the shirt collar a blonde emerged, wings like canvases splashed with colour unrolling and spilling from the back, and those blue eyes shone in wonder. He had fallen asleep. The earth had welcomed him in and he was calm. Yet now here he was, lost in confusion, and there was Ivan. The man ran forward, feeling light as he moved and extended his hands to the fae. Yet his hands- they were small.

Ivan was his height. The artist looked down to the material under his feet only to discover the cloth of his shirt. His clothes lay abandoned here and he finally felt the chill of the night air.

"Ivan?"

"Be quiet!" The fae tugged him down and held Francis, for the first time being able to feel the man's body against his, and that was all the world in an instant.

They held each other, kneeling there on the ground, and their small hearts beat much harder than either had ever experienced. Life was in Francis again and Ivan had all he could desire from an adventure.

For some time not a word was said. The two finally drew back enough to look at each other, but still nothing could be said. Francis leaned towards Ivan, but the boy beat him first. He dove forward for the kiss and gave a moan at the contact, Francis giving a sound of amusement. Their mouths opened, lips catching as they closed, and wet sounds left with the contact. Wet kisses. Sweet kisses. Each one grew in intensity until tongues warped around each other. Ivan lightly nipped Francis' tongue and shoved the man back. Francis laughed as he landed on his ass, looking to Ivan with a delight the fae had yearned to see. It was beautiful in every way and he'd do anything to continue earning it.

Ivan moved forward and kissed the man again, easing him back as kisses wandered past the bearded stubble and along the throat. Chills rushed across skin as Francis gave a sigh. Ivan was taking in the man's taste and scent. Marking him and enjoying each dip and curve of the man's form. His tongue collected dew from the collarbone and ran down to the pectorals. Fingernails raked across the skin until he let his tongue swirl around a nipple. Ivan felt it against is stomach, pressing and prodding, and felt his own swell. It had never done this. He had never matured. Yet now, as he pleasured Francis, he felt a surge building in his stomach. Low and intense, this feeling he needed to satisfy.

Finally to the man's stomach he slid to the lightly protruding hip bone and traced the crease from the bone down. Francis was shivering in is need, his erection firm by Ivan's head. For a moment Ivan reflected on what the woman had been doing and jealousy flared through him. His mouth was set upon it as fingers rolled down skin, his lips forming a suction around the head. The taste was still so damned sweet. His own thing was beginning to ache. As he sucked, letting his head bob along the shaft, his free hand stroked his own.

It wasn't enough. The feeling still burned, but his body was growing moist. The fae were androgynous folk. Like frogs magick let them shift if there was a shortage of females. So, until a shift occurred, both male and females lubricated.

"Ivan, come here." Francis sat up, gesturing the other closer.

Ivan drew near and Francis slid his hand lightly across the tightening sac and across the soft skin behind it. Back and back until he found Ivan's entrance. He didn't think of cleanliness. Nor of any typical human procedure. He simply let a finger inside, thrusting it slowly as Ivan hissed. The feeling was odd and burned a little. Yet at the same time the odd feeling eased the tension in his stomach. A second finger inside and Ivan was starting to relax. The lust of nymphs world renown began to set it. His hips rocked back as he tried to take the fingers in deeper. Francis licked and sucked a nipple as he eased Ivan into it. When satisfied he drew his fingers out and they both looked at each other. It was the sudden tension of two people when they know the next step, the unknown, was there. Ivan straddled the hips, hand behind him and reaching under to grab Francis' member, and slowly he eased himself down on it. The head slipped a little across the entrance before the tip pressed enough against him to spread the skin open.

Slowly and slowly the muscles relaxed and the tissue spread until Francis was inside. The men both gave grunts and sighs until Ivan felt he had enough in. Francis was holding him, head against Ivan's chest, and the two held each other there. Ivan felt the pounding in his chest and anticipated more.

Slowly he moved himself further down and then up again. Down. Then up. Francis groaned as his cock shifted with the weight, skin wrinkling as the boy moved, and Ivan felt a sudden joy. It was a completion he felt could only be gained through Francis and so he would only do this with the man. This man was his mate now.

Francis slid his hands to the hips and helped Ivan along, easing him into a steady pace, and Ivan moaned louder. He could feel the thick seam lining the underside of Francis' cock rubbing his back wall. And when he moved the veins kept rubbing _something_ against the front wall. They kissed. They rocked and ground and Ivan's held Francis' hair and shoulders all he could. One hand left Ivan's hip to go to his member. The man jerked with a firm stroke, twisting his wrist a little to add extra friction. It was growing to be too much. Ivan gave a startled cry as the tension in his stomach suddenly dropped. His sac squeezed before lowering and he splurted across their stomachs and chests. His body ached and trembled as Francis kept forcing him to ride. Finally the blonde gave a deep groan, eyes shutting tight as his jaw locked. Teeth bared like an animal as he came inside.

The two remained merged this way for some time, building a desire again only to complete it.

For a week they looked for Francis before finding his clothes, torn and stained from the mowers tending to the grass by the field. His paintings began to sell for high bids. His final gala, Sunflowers and Whine, was seen by thousands of people as they prayed for the artist. The artist had earned his fame and the fae his adventure. And so the quite Gascon hills of Fleurance echoed the dinging of church bells and the humming of faerie wings- and all was new.

Author's note: I'm so glad I could finally get this final chapter done. I won't bore you all but it has been a very bad week for this author here. Regardless of that, I'm satisfied with this and I like the reactions you all have given me. You all are dear to me. Thank you for taking your time to read this. Happy Holidays and God Bless.


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